Like an over-sized pumpkin advertised on signs for a fair, that people buy tickets to gawk at.

There comes a point when one needs to ask “Should this get bigger?” Photo Credit : bajiroo.com

I mean, I stopped being able to get up off of the futon by myself about a month ago. Admittedly our futon is awkwardly shaped and low to the ground and ultimately a futon, which is to say it’s a piece of furniture that makes neither a nice bed nor a nice couch. Somehow I was able to move past this fact, although not physically obviously; Tex has frequently cupped one of my buttocks while saying “Alley–oop”, to help me off the couch. But mentally, I forgave the futon, well not so much forgave as routinely beat the living daylights out of, when I left the bed to sleep on the aforementioned uncomfortable not-bed, because Tex and my bed was too soft, hard, warm, small, smooth, or whatever other conclusion my crazy pregnant brain had come to at 2 am. I would then release my insomniac frustrations on the futon by kicking and punching my way back to sleep.

That was before last week when I realized that I was too fat to get out of bed. If I’m being honest, I’ve probably been too fat to exit the bed for some time now, however I wasn’t aware of this until my mountain of pillows rearranged itself to form a kind of barricade.

You know, I think I’d be more comfortable if I had just one more….Tex the time has come- give me your pillow. Photo Credit : sodahead.com

And I was unable to use my patented, pregnant technique of rolling sideways out of the bed so my feet landed on the floor. “Uuuurrggghhhh” I cried. “Ahhhhh”

“What’s wrong?” Tex asked, bolting straight up in the bed just because he could, what with not being six months pregnant.

“I’m too fat to get out of bed” I cried plaintively as my sweet husband reached over to help me to a sitting position.